


Shiny Toy Guns

by nni



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Gun Kink, M/M, PWP, i'm just gross, look there's no actual sex okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 12:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9272141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nni/pseuds/nni
Summary: It's a long road ahead, no looking back. He just needs something to take the edge off.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madrox (ramathorne)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramathorne/gifts).



> listen i can explain

Axton is a man of unique tastes, and nothing if not a little self-indulgent.

 

It’s just. He really didn’t expect anyone else in this merry band of vault hunters to _help_ him indulge himself, not when they’re all mostly busy actually focusing on the task at hand like the marginally competent crew they are. And least of all Zer0, the _mysterious assassin_ , complete with mental air quotes. Of course, it hasn’t escaped his notice, the way he watches sometimes when they’re in combat, hones in on the carefree way Axton moves through the field. And he can’t blame him, he’s  _good_ at violence, and he looks good doing it. He just never thought it’d land him here, holed up in some dark space between two of the haphazard buildings of some backwater town, legs slipping just slightly further apart with the long, lean body of a hitman curled inquisitively over him.

 

The Maliwan barrel bulges obscenely in the pocket of his cheek, he can feel it, and he would pay good money he doesn’t have to see himself right now, because _damn_ that must be a sight. Something presses up against the seam of mouth and metal, where the business end of a big, big gun is stretching his lips open wide-- the pad of a thumb, he realizes as his eyes shoot open and a soft moan is swallowed up by the muzzle.

 

He can’t see Zer0’s face, obviously, but he has this feeling like even if he could he wouldn’t find anything there but cold, indifferent intrigue, as empty as his name suggests. They haven't known each other going on too long, yet, but he gets the feeling that Zer0 isn’t exactly the warm, friendly type, which. Right now, that kind of works to Axton’s advantage. This would be much, much less enjoyable if he wasn’t so far removed. Like trying to get off with Maya shoving a buzzaxe down his throat: messy and dangerous and a bad time for everyone involved.

 

This, though. This is still dangerous, but a different type of danger, and this disconnect, this emotional distance between them is doing almost as much for him as the tang of still-warm metal pressing heavy on his tongue. He swallows around the rifle, and Zer0’s finger tightens on the trigger, makes him close his eyes again and huff out a breath that shivers through his entire body, dizzy with the thought that it could be his last. He’s so high on adrenaline and _need_ that he can barely even think-- hard as steel without having laid so much as a finger on himself, knees on the ground and hands folded at ease behind his back like a good little soldier.

 

His tongue slips around, slides past the lip of the barrel and flicks across the opening, and he moans louder this time, chest stuttering with shallow breaths as he savours the taste; gunpowder and metal and the hot, charred signature of incendiary ammo. He feels it when Zer0’s hand leaves his chin, slides back down the barrel of the gun and holds it steady. It’s better like this, blind to the world with his fate in someone else's hands, because he can shape things how he wants, in the way he imagines the assassin levelling his visor with the scope, that bright, haunting **∅** staring him down through the sight and contemplating pulling the trigger, walking away without so much as a backward glance. The thought thrills him, makes him bite down on the rifle just so, but enough to jar it, enough that he can feel Zer0’s grip tighten and his finger stroke the trigger, the heat of the elemental charge building and singing through his skull.

 

The sniper’s patience is wearing thin (understandable, since the most he's really getting out of this deal is the chance to scratch that itch of morbid curiosity about what makes a fucked up fuckup tick), he can tell from the shift in the air and, you know, the way he gives the gun a small thrust, jabs the muzzle against the smooth, slick muscle at the back of Axton’s throat, and that’s it, game over. He isn't built to withstand the careless shove of a weapon down his throat, like he's here for the gun's pleasure and not the other way around. That's all it takes for the dam to break and months, _years_ of built up want (if he counts how long it's been since the last time his ex-wife let him do anything like this) to come rushing out like floodwater.

 

The man at the other end of the rifle, the end that decides if he leaves here alive, is saying _something_ , he knows, he just doesn’t know _what_. It’s like that low, static voice is drifting to his ears through a thick layer of cotton, and even behind closed eyes his vision goes a hazy white. There’s a slick, sticky wetness growing at the front of his briefs, and he might be a little more indignant that he’s jizzing his pants without so much as a rub through the fabric if he wasn’t so lightheaded, barely connected to his own body. It hardly even registers that he’s groaning again, one last, long, unrestrained sound as the rifle slips out of his mouth with a wash of spit, leaves his throat raw and coughing and aching for more. But this will do; it’ll have to. Axton’s learned the hard way to live with what you get, especially on Pandora, and especially when the other person is more likely to offer a bullet to the brain than another chance.

 

“You are disgusting,” Zer0 says, and Axton doesn’t bother answering. He can’t exactly argue, probably, doesn’t have the capacity to say much of anything, for now, but he doesn’t exactly get the feeling it was an invitation even if he did. When he finally opens his eyes he sees Zer0 fawning over the gun, already working on wiping it down, more concerned with its well being than with the living, breathing person’s. He’s not sure why he bothers, technically, the thing is Axton’s _anyway_ \-- he’d swiped it off the body of a bandit they’d taken out on their way into town-- but he couldn’t care any less. He’s just gonna sell the thing, not like it’s any kind of big deal. It’s not his type of weapon, and nowhere near as brutal as the ones he has now. Although, it looks like he's managed to get some use out of it after all.

 

He laughs to himself, runs a hand through his hair as he looks down to assess the damage. Thankfully, the military-grade fabric of his pants is thick enough to keep much evidence from seeping through, but he’s definitely gonna need a moment alone once Zer0’s done and gone to ah. Readjust, and clean up, or he’s in for one incredibly uncomfortable march back to the motel. But oh, it’d been so worth it.

 

He’s just glad he’s got a room to himself tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> alright no i can't


End file.
